One of Us
by rain chant
Summary: After a vampire is attacked in Vatican territory, Abel Nightroad and pilot Rory Manor are left to figure out who did it, and why they would be so obvious about it.  But it doesn't really resemble the work of the Rosenkreuz orden this time...
1. Chapter 1

Menicla liked several things in life. She liked fine music. She liked soft pillows and comfortable furnishings. She liked the taste of human blood as it slid down her throat.

Yes. Menicla, a Countess of the New Human Empire, was a Methuselah.

At the moment, Menicla was strolling outside her vacation home in Syracuse after the sun went down, trying to find her troublesome younger brother, Ramnoff. The boy was thirty and yet acted like he had no sense. It was about time he stopped playing pranks and began to act with the dignity of a real Methuselah.

"Ramnoff! If you don't get inside I'll throw you into the sun!" she shouted. Troublesome boy, never thinking things out, a waste of a good Methuselah…Meni sighed, vexed at Ramnoff and also at herself. These were not fair thoughts. She knew she should have more patience with her brother, but patience was a virtue she had yet to learn.

"Ramnoff!" she began again, but stopped as she caught a Methuselah scent leading off of the grounds. Ramnoff. It had to be him, taking one of the late-night snacks that he was so fond of. Menicla had three younger brothers and two older sisters, but none of her siblings were as incorrigible as he.

It was Meni's responsibility to look out for him, though. She followed the trail into the human city nearby. Some delicious smells were coming from buildings–blood and human foods, which she could eat–but she had no time to stop.

A scent buried itself in her nose like a grub. This was a sweet and spicy scent, so strong and sharp that she reeled back a few steps. It was mixed in with Ramnoff's. Menicla frowned–that couldn't be a human scent, could it? She followed the treacherous trail faster, though the city and beyond, until it finally led to a broken-down house. She kicked open the rotting wood door and stared inside.

There was her younger brother, on the floor, paler than a ghost, gasping weakly as blood trickled from marks on his neck…and a much more serious wound. His torso had been separated from his legs. As she watched, the legs began to twitch.

Menicla began to scream…

Chapter One: Reports

Abel Nightroad seemed to survive in a state of constant starvation–that was Rory Manor's conclusion. The young pilot could hear the priest's stomach rumbling even now, after they had both scarfed down sandwiches for lunch. Rory checked his instruments, noted that the light aircraft he was flying was still a good twenty minutes away from the Vatican, and turned a smile on the priest in the copilot's seat. "There are still some crackers left, if you're hungry," he offered.

He got a sheepish smile in return. "I didn't want to seem greedy," Abel said, rubbing his head. "It was very kind of you to fly me back to the Vatican, especially after I wrecked one of your zeppelins!"

Rory waved the comment away. "You got rid of that _thing _that killed Mrs. Lena. A ride is the least I can do." Abel nodded seriously, and pushed his glasses higher up his nose.

To their surprise, something in the ship started beeping.

Rory quickly checked over his all of his instruments, looking for a warning light or a low gauge that would warrant the irritating little beeps. The priest, who had been looking around in a state close to panic, suddenly gasped, "Oh!" and pulled a little metal device from his habit. "I have a message," he said by way of explanation. "I have to take this, sorry."

He clicked a button and a hologram materialized above the little object: a middle-aged yet still pretty nun with laugh lines. Right now, though, she looked very solemn. "Abel, are you on your way back?" she asked.

"Hello to you too, Sister Kate. Yes, Mr. Rory was kind enough to fly me back home," Abel said. "What's wrong?"  
>"Well, I hope your business in Venice is concluded, because you're needed in the New Human Empire right away. We're on the <em>Iron Maiden<em>, already en route. I can send Mister–Rory did you say it was?–the coordinates, and he can meet us this side of the border to drop you off."

Abel and Rory spoke at the same time. "I don't mind taking him–" "Is it really that urgent–"

"Yes, it is that urgent, and this is Vatican business, Mr. Rory, so you may drop him off and thank you for your services," Kate said firmly.

"Kate, at least tell me a little of what I'm getting into," Abel wheedled. He intercepted Kate's warning glance and added, "Don't worry about Rory; I trust him. In fact, I wouldn't be here right now without his assistance."

Kate looked from one to the other, Abel's face looking as innocent as it could, and Rory's looking as noble and trustworthy as it could. She sighed as much as it is possible for a hologram to sigh. "Fine." The two young men leaned forward, and Kate added sharply, "This is a Vatican investigation, Mister Rory, and if one word of it gets out, there will be dire consequences. Do you understand?"

Rory put his hand over his heart and swore not to tell as soul. Then, after Kate sent him the coordinates of the _Iron Maiden_ and he adjusted the course of the ship accordingly, the holographic nun said, "Two days ago, a Methuselah was attacked while in Vatican territories."

"Where?" Abel asked sharply.

"It was in Syracuse. Apparently, a very old Methuselah family, the Nithsgorgs, has had a second home there for nearly a century. They were taking their traditional vacation there when the youngest son, Ramnoff, was attacked. He was badly injured, and he claims that he was overwhelmed by a creature stronger and faster than he. Can you imagine that? But now the Empire is pointing fingers at the Vatican, since the crime took place in Vatican territory."

There was plenty Rory wanted to say, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself and have Kate stop talking. He concentrated on the air currents around him, trying to be inconspicuous, and so missed the very sober and dangerous cast that Abel's eyes took. "Did Ramnoff Nithsgorg describe his attacker any further?" Abel asked.

"He's not saying anything else," Kate said. "Vampire officials are already at the Nithsgorg estate–they are a family of Counts and Countesses, since their parents passed away several years ago. The AX needs to be there. Tres is with us, and he'll be accompanying you to their mansion. Any information you can gather will be useful."

"What about Syracuse? Has it been searched?"

Kate looked meaningfully over at Rory. "I'll tell you more at your briefing when you arrive."

"I'll be there soon, Kate," Abel said, and with a few words of farewell, the hologram disappeared. Abel stashed the metal device in his habit again as Rory turned to him with a plea in his eyes.

"Abel, I can take you directly to the estate," he said. "I can find the coordinates easily enough, and I won't have any problem getting through the particle field! I've got clearance to fly anywhere!"

The priest shook his head. "This one is very dangerous, Rory."

"Of course; anything that could attack a vampire has to be pretty tough," Rory agreed quickly. "But you may need a good pilot, and I, well, I'm the best. Plus I owe you for saving my life in that canal."

Abel tried to wave this away, but Rory persisted. "You know I can't swim for anything," he said. "I can fly you to the Nithsgorg estate, and then your boss can chew me out if she wants. And," he added, struck by a sudden inspiration, "I can make some more ham sandwiches for us when we get there. I have all the ingredients in the fridge."

"Ham sandwiches," Abel moaned. "I feel like I haven't eaten in days…okay, to the estate!" The pilot grinned, and Abel pulled out the metal device again. "Now watch this," he said with a sly smile. A press of the right button, and Kate appeared again over the device.

"So sorry, Kate, but I think you might have sent us the wrong coordinates! We're right where we should be and there's no sign of you…you did say 46 degrees 36 minutes N and 60 degrees 20 minutes E, right?"

"No, I said 52 degrees 20 minutes N, and–" Kate began, but Abel spoke over her.

"I think we're losing you, Sister Kate!" he yelled, clicking the button on and off to make the hologram flicker. "I'll just meet you at the Nithsgorg estate, all right?"

With one final click, the hologram disappeared for good. Abel Nightroad sat back in satisfaction.

Rory said, "That was brilliant! It won't get you in much trouble, will it?"

Abel sighed. "I'm always in trouble. A little more won't hurt me. Now, about those ham sandwiches you promised…is there any more mustard?"

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: I do not own Trinity Blood or any of its characters or ideas. I leave them to their creators.<p>

Well, this is the first chapter of my first fanfic to make it online. Please review! I appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you for reading, you wonderful people!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Caveats

The Nithsgorg estate lay only a few miles beyond the particle field that marked the beginning of the New Human Empire. It was so large that Rory's instruments picked it up only a couple of minutes before his eyes spotted it. He could have fit five of his own home in it and still not covered the vast gardens or the airstrip, on which was parked the largest battleship Rory had ever seen. On its side, in gold inlay, were the words "Iron Maiden."

"My, my, my," Abel commented, peering down at the grandeur. "They do live in style, don't they?"

As Rory tore his eyes from the battleship–what he wouldn't give to fly one of those!–he spotted something else on the airstrip. "Abel, look," he said, tapping the priest's arm to get his attention. "Look at that zeppelin down there. That doesn't look like a Vatican craft."

"No, it's not," Abel said, adjusting his glasses. "That's the emblem of the Empress on the side. It must be the Methuselah officials Kate spoke of."

Rory swallowed and nodded. "Right." After a sideways glance at the priest, he added, "I don't suppose this is the time to mention that the only vampire I've ever met is the one that killed Mrs. Lena?"

"Er…," Abel said. "Most Methuselah are actually very well-mannered, and they don't try to eat people willy-nilly. Isn't that pilot waving you down?"

The zeppelin's pilot had emerged from the ship and was signaling Rory to land on the space to its right. He did so, setting the craft down gently and then lowering the ramp. He walked with Abel out of the cockpit and into the ship's other room, where Abel paused with his hand on the wall and took a deep, steadying breath.

"You'd be scared too, if you worked for the people I do!" he said in response to Rory's amused smile. Rory reached to his right–not very far, since the ship was so small–and patted the fridge in an encouraging way. Abel nodded and said, "I'll be back for that sandwich. Hopefully."

"I'll be here," Rory promised as the priest left the ship and walked over to the hulking Vatican battleship. The ramp lowered, and a man walked out to meet Abel.

Rory's eyes turned to the zeppelin's pilot. She was still outside of her craft, checking the engine. He looked as closely as he could at this distance, but he couldn't tell if she was human or Methuselah. She was certainly pretty, with lots of blonde hair, and maybe only a few years older than he was.

Rory left his ship and strolled over. "Hi," he said.

She looked up, revealing an unlined face, but one that seemed human. "Oh. Hello," she said back. Her eyes flickered to his aircraft and then back to him. "You're flying for the Vatican?"

"For now," he said. "And you're flying for the New Human Empire…although you're a human?"

"Of course! It's my home."

"You live there, and you're human?" Rory couldn't imagine it. Surrounded by vampires all the time? How did that not end in disaster?

"Humans are welcome in the empire," she explained.

Rory hesitated against the questions he wanted to ask, and then nodded. "I heard that what happened was really serious. Do you know what's going on?"

She paused and searched his eyes for any hint of guile before leaning in and whispering, "I heard that a Methuselah was almost killed while in _your_ territory. I can't say who, but I flew two very important people out here today because of it. I think they're trying to prevent the worst."

Rory leaned in. "The worst?"

She gave him an odd look. "The worst. War."

* * *

><p>Abel's walk to the <em>Iron Maiden<em> seemed a bit like walking into the lion's den, especially when the ramp lowered and the lion came out. He was Tres Iqus, the Vatican's mechanized AX agent and one of Abel's personal friends–though Tres, surely, wouldn't define their relationship in such a human manner.

"Greetings, Father Nightroad," Tres said as Abel approached. "Status report?"

"I'm fine, thanks, Tres, Say…Sister Kate isn't too mad about me flying here on my own, is she?"

"Negative. She said to tell you…'nice try.'" As the priest sighed in relief, Tres's gaze focused on a point behind Abel's back. "That is your pilot?"

Abel turned to see Rory standing by the Methuselahs' ship, chatting with their pilot. "That's him," he confirmed. "Now, did we find anything when we searched Syracuse?"

"Very little, Father Nightroad. Only footprints leading to the abandoned house in which the Methuselah was found. The footprints appear too large to be a woman's."

"He was taken out of his house and into this empty place?" Abel inquired.

"Affirmative. Estimated distance from house to house: 2.4 miles."

Abel was about to say more, but an imperious voice from behind interrupted him: "Abel Nightroad, we missed your presence on this flight." Coming down the ramp was a very corpulent man in the robes of the higher clergy in the Vatican Order. His thinning brown hair was slicked back across his head, and his deep-set eyes carried a weight to them. He raised a hand and said in his deep voice, "I am sure that you were not shirking your duties?"

Abel knew this man, knew the face, knew to be cautious…but could not for the life of him remember the man's name. He said, "No, of course not," and then leaned over to Tres and whispered, "Tres, help me, I forgot who he is."

"Father Henry, your concern is understandable, but unnecessary," Tres said clearly in response.

Ah, now he remembered. Father Marcus Henry, newly appointed head of Vatican relations around the world. Abel hadn't liked the man when they had first met; Henry seemed to be a politician through and through, and he tried to put a weighty importance into his eyes and voice that were not suited to one who, in Abel's eyes, had seen so little of life. In fact, the priest had to force himself to smile as Henry strode down the ramp to stand in front of them. Next to Abel and Tres, the man was a dwarf.

They processed to the front door like this, Henry in front, the AX agents behind. As they walked, Tres said in an undertone, "Cardinal Caterina Sforza has ordered us to observe Father Henry and prevent him from damaging Vatican-Empire relations. We are not to leave him alone with any of the Methuselah."

It made sense, because Abel had already guessed that Henry and the Cardinal would not see eye-to-eye, but having an adversary on the inside complicated matters a bit too much for Abel's tastes.

As it happened, Tres was the one to keep an eye on Marcus Henry. As soon as the man was inside and introduced to the Methuselah officials–Duchess Remira Mattas, an information minister, and Loquis Bellenon, one of the speakers for Empress Augusta Vradica–he began talking to them about the political ramifications of what had happened. This left Abel free to talk to the injured Methuselah on his own.

Countess Hammara Nithsgorg, the eldest of the clan, led Abel up a flight of steps and stopped in front of a plain brown door. "Ramnoff is inside," she said. "Be warned, Terran; he is in a foul temper and not disposed to talk. You may have five minutes with him."

Abel said quietly, "Thank you," and opened the door.

Where he was promptly met by a flying vase and a stern "GET OUT!"

* * *

><p>Well, I introduced several characters in this chapter. Hope it wasn't too much; I tried to cut all all the unnecessary detail and not bore anyone!<p>

My heartfelt thanks to laurose and wolfawaken for their reviews! Also, thank you to everyone who decided to give this story more than a passing glance. I will not disappoint!

As another note, Trinity Blood doesn't belong to me. I only own my own characters. Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Accusations

Abel Nightroad had fast reflexes; they'd saved his life several times. They saved him yet again as he ducked and the vase missed his face by an inch, shattering on the doorframe beside him. As he fished the remains of a lily out of his hair, Hammara gave him a look that might have been the distant cousin of a smile. "Five minutes," she repeated, and walked back down the hallway and down the stairs.

Abel peered into the room, adjusting his glasses. The bedroom was just as baroque as the rest of the house, with a four-poster canopied bed, a desk set and a grand piano that probably cost more money than Abel would see for ten years. A young Methuselah lay on the bed with the covers drawn up to his chest. Standing beside the bed was a Methuselah girl with the same shade of brown hair as the bedridden boy, and if her snarl was anything to go by, she was not happy to see a priest in her doorway.

"The Count," she said slowly and clearly, "is not dying. Go away."

Abel stared at her with some bewilderment. "Of course he isn't dying. Otherwise I would have brought flowers–oh! Yes, the outfit. I'm not here to give him his last rites; my name is Abel Nightroad, and I am here from the Vatican. I would like to speak to the Count about his injuries."

"No," the girl said. "The only reason a Vatican priest should even _think_ about entering this home is for his rites. We do not wish to talk to you!"

"We?"

"The Count and myself." At Abel's questioning gaze, the girl drew herself up and said, "You are addressing Countess Menicla Nithsgorg. The Count and I do not wish to speak with you."

Menicla held her chin high and kept her voice cool, seemingly trying to imitate her forbidding older sister, Hammara. But Abel could see the anger simmering in her eyes and the way her fingers twitched as she spoke. He was pretty sure that Ramnoff wasn't the one throwing vases.

Ramnoff Nithsgorg himself was now sitting up in his bed, alternatively looking at Abel and Menicla as though he were at some sort of sports match. It was easy to see that he was much too pale to be in good health, and a little too thin. As he caught Abel looking, his expression shifted into something sullen; though not inviting, it was not as fierce as his sister's countenance, so Abel decided to speak to him instead. "I know you've been under terrible stress from nosy people, but I would like to speak with you, Count. We don't have a prayer of catching what attacked you if we don't know what we're after."

Abel only caught a glimpse of some suppressed fear in the boy's eyes before, suddenly, Menicla was in his face. He stumbled back a step as she snarled, "Was the vase not subtle enough for you? _He_ _does not want to talk_–"

The priest stepped blithely around her mid-sentence. "–to you," Menicla finished. "Are you ignoring–"

"Forgive me, Countess, but it seems to me that the Count is capable of answering for himself." Abel pinned her with a look, and for a just a moment he thought she might punch him. The moment passed, though, and as she stayed silent he moved to sit in the chair by Ramnoff's bedside, with Menicla watching him like a hawk all the way.

Ramnoff did his best to meet Abel's eyes, although his own didn't stay there very long, instead moving downward to stare at the sheets of his bed. His eyes were sunken, with dark circles underneath. A white brace fastened around his neck made him look even more vulnerable.

"So, Count, is your neck recovering well?" Abel inquired.

No answer. Ramnoff's gaze bored a hole in the swirly pattern on his covers.

"Those can be tricky to heal," the priest continued, filling up the silence. "I once had a very bad neck injury. It was actually a bite." Ramnoff twitched. "I, well, I was fighting a Methuselah at the time, one that had gone rogue and was trying to kill people. It seemed like I would never get that brace off! But it healed without complications, and everything turned out okay in the end. I did get justice for everyone killed, and for myself, and no one else was hurt, and I suppose that's what matters in the end, right?"

"If you are so interested in fairness," Ramnoff said in a voice as thin as the rest of him, "then you should be in your own territory. My own injuries are a human's doing."

A human? That was possible, but it would have to be one tough human… "So you saw your attacker, then?" Abel asked.

"…I did not have to see this thing to know that a Terran was behind it," Ramnoff said stiffly.

"Then how did you know?"

Ramnoff looked into Abel's eyes properly now. "I know because no Methuselah would have attacked me! No Methuselah were even in the area. It is not possible!"

"Then tell me what you saw, Count." Abel leaned forward. "Help me find what injured you."

Ramnoff looked up at Abel, scowled, and then haltingly sketched out what had happened that night: how he had wandered off the ground on his own, looking for a meal (not of Terrans, he was quick to add); how he had been set on suddenly, and poisoned with something that blurred his vision and rendered him nearly unconscious, and taken somewhere away from the house.

"Poison?" Abel asked. "How? Was it injected or contact poison?"

"Injected." Ramnoff made an almost involuntary motion towards his neck.

"May I see the wound?" Abel asked gently.

"No!" Both Ramnoff and Menicla said at once.

The priest suppressed a sigh. It was foolish to think that they might give him the whole story all at once, when they obviously held the attack against him. "Do you have any other injuries, Count?"

"One," he said, "around my waist. It was made by a very…sharp…object, perhaps a knife."

Abel supposed that a human could be fast enough with a needle to drug a vampire, and then take the vampire somewhere and try to kill it. The theory might have made sense had there not been something hugely important missing: motive.

"Do you know of any reason why anyone would want you dead, Count?"

"Terrans do not require reasons," Menicla answered, leaning across Ramnoff's bed towards Abel. "Sometimes, they take initiative to strike the first blow."

"Five minutes have passed," said Hammara from the doorway.

Well, the talk hadn't gone as well as he had hoped, but considering they'd started with a vase and ended with civilized conversation, it wasn't so bad. Abel had to say one more thing before he left: "Count, Countess, thank you. Count, if you think of anything else that might help, I'm with the Vatican. Just ask for Abel Nightroad." He leaned in even closer and spoke softly. "We'll find your attacker, but with your help, it would be much easier. Think about that, okay?"

Abel stood and, after giving a slight bow to all of the Methuselah, followed Hammara from the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Ramnoff was uneasy now, and Menicla blamed the priest.<p>

They had already spoken to their own authorities; surely if the Empress was aware of what had happened, then that was enough. There was no real need for others to drag her brother though his memories again, especially since he hadn't really recovered. His legs were at least attached to his torso, but he talked in his sleep now, pleading with something he couldn't see to let him go. It wasn't easy to listen to, but Menicla wasn't going to leave him now. Ramnoff had always been her responsibility; she was going to look after him.

Right now he wanted to be alone, so Menicla eased down the stairs to the first floor. The door to the parlor was closed, but to Meni's ears the voices came through the door as though the obstacle wasn't even there. She had arrived just in time to hear one of the Methuselah officials say, "It is very possible that a Terran attacked the Count. Your agency must do everything in its power to find him."

"Of course the Vatican is doing everything it can," a low, heavy voice said. "But it is also possible that one of your kind attacked him. I cannot help but wonder why that might have happened."

"No one would attack him," the other official said. "To kill one of the Empress's children would be similar to a direct attack on the Empress herself: not tolerable. We are not savages, Marcus Henry."

Marcus Henry spent several minutes talking his way around what he had just said while Menicla fumed. There was no way that one of their own had attacked her brother! The Nithsgorgs were a respected family.

But if one had...and try as she might, Menicla couldn't get the possibility out of her mind...if a Methuselah _had_ tried to kill him, then Menicla intended to see that person dead and burning.

Staying in here eavesdropping wasn't going to help her mood anyway, so she left her house by the servant's door and wandered onto the front lawn. From there, she could see the aircraft that had brought all these people to her normally quiet house. Something was going on over there; a couple of people stood by the Methuselah zeppelin. Maybe more of her kind discussing what had happened; maybe even someone she knew. She made her way over there, carefully avoiding all the flowers in her path.

She was on the airstrip and maybe a hundred feet away from the pair, a male and female, when the wind shifted and brought their scents her way. Not Methuselah, Terran. They were Terrans.

She didn't want to talk to Terrans.

Menicla was already turning around when they looked up and saw her. One of them, the male, waved a hand over his head in greeting, but she turned away.

Then, to her chagrin, she heard running footsteps behind her and turned back to see that he had decided to approach her. He couldn't have been older than twenty, and he had an easy smile on his face. "Hi!" he called. "Do you need any help-oh, you're not..."

"Not what?" Menicla demanded.

"Not...not...a pilot," he finished awkwardly. "I'm Rory, Rory Manor. Hi." He held out his hand to shake.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Sorry it took so long to post; I've been on vacation. If you have comments, questions, criticisms, anything to say about the story so far, please review! It always makes me happy to know that people are reading. And as a disclaimer, I don't own Trinity Blood.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Intelligence

Damien Fallow wiped cold sweat from his face and told himself that he was being a little too jumpy. The church was empty; all the Terrans had gone home, he _knew_ that. A clock had struck two in the morning a while ago, and the church was dark, the scent of the old books rising into the air with the dust.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

He left the wings of the church and paced towards the main alter. It might have been ironic, for an atheistic Methuselah to hide in a church, but an exile like him had little choice if he wished to stay out of the sun. The old chapel had sheltered him well for many years, away from the eyes of Terrans.

Spinning around suddenly, he scanned the shadows near him. Didn't that sound like footsteps? "Who's there?" he hissed, feeling a little silly as he did so, but not silly enough to stop himself from moving to a more defendable position in the church, in a corner of the main hall. The one with the secret door in the wall, where he could slip away if he had to.

Nothing moved for several minutes. Then the chapel's clock struck three, the chimes ringing around the empty building. Still all was calm. "Maybe it's me," Fallow muttered, hitting the button behind him to open the door.

A smell wafted out of the secret passage, something sharp and sweet. Before he could turn to see what it was, something sank into his neck. A needle? He grabbed at it, but it was gone, and as he turned, he found himself staring straight at a man's chest, covered with a white shirt and tie. The white shirt was a beacon for his hand to find that man's heart and crush it for having the audacity to attack Damien Fallow. He reached out as the man retreated back down the passage, and he was forced to take a few steps forward. But he couldn't reach! The man's figure blurred right into the shadows…and so did the walls and the floor and the rest of the church. Suddenly, Fallow was on the ground, scrambling at the wooden floor with fingers that didn't want to obey his commands. But everything was going blurry, and he was in pain, his eyes burning and throat closing. There was a weight on his back, like that of an animal, or a child. His pain was intense…but soon over.

* * *

><p>"You mean this wasn't the first attack?" Abel Nightroad asked.<p>

The two Methuselah officials, Mattas and Bellenon, had sent Hammara from the room and sworn Abel, Tres and Marcus Henry to absolute secrecy; this information was to be kept within the very highest circles. Now Duchess Mattas shook her head. "No. To the best of our knowledge, there have been three before it."

"The first attack occurred in the city of Corum, nearly two months before this one," Speaker Bellenon continued. "The Methuselah's name was Revany, from the minor nobility. His death was reported to the public as an accident, and we arrested his brother because of several minor incidents between the two that had occurred over the years. However, the evidence did not suggest his guilt, and another attack occurred only two days later, in a similar style."

"Was he poisoned?" Abel asked.

"We could not tell from the body. Revany was torn to pieces, and he had…bled out." Bellenon cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Very little could be salvaged. He was buried quietly."

"And the second attack?"

"Occurred in Ródhos, one week later, at the house of another minor noble. The victim this time was Rasputin Petrovsky, one of the Methuselah who deal with the finances of our Empire. He, too, was torn and broken, and had little blood left in his body."

"Who found him?" asked Abel.

"One of his servants, a human woman named Leana. She called the authorities right afterward; when questioned, all she had to say was that she had found him. We took the entire household into custody, but…their story is authentic. None of them had anything to do with his murder."

"What evidence did you find, if I may ask?" asked Marcus Henry.

It was Mattas who replied. "Very little. The scene should have been very messy, but it had been cleaned. There was no trace of the one who had killed Petrovsky, and for a long time, no other attacks.

"Then, two weeks ago, another Methuselah was killed in Uskudar, just outside of our capital of Byzantium. She was not noble, merely a citizen of the empire, Adana Metoris. Like the others, broken and with little blood–but the killer did not have time to clean the area properly, because he was interrupted by the coming of two of Metoris' friends. They stopped by her house unexpectedly, and found someone fleeing. One gave chase, and the other went inside to find Metoris dead on the floor. The one chasing the killer caught up to him and was stabbed in the neck with a needle and injected with a sort of poison; he was rendered immobile almost immediately."

"Did he see the attacker?" Tres asked.

In response, Mattas tapped the stack of papers beside her. "His testimony is in the notes we have collected for you. Briefly, the attacker was over six feet tall, with graying hair, and black eyes. He was human."

Both Mattas and Bellenon stared at the Vatican priests with cold eyes that held unspoken judgment. Because they thought that the priests were human? No, Abel realized, more than that. They were human and with the Vatican, and since the attacker was human and had fled to Vatican territory…perhaps they assumed that the Vatican wished to see their empire in shambles.

Before he could say anything, Marcus Henry spoke. "We are much aggrieved to know that a human committed these acts. But how? How could a human, even one who apparently has great hatred for the Empire, murder three competent Methuselah?"

"There are certain poisons that are dangerous to Methuselah," Mattas replied, "and Terrans have killed our kind before. Take the Nithsgorg family, for instance, whose house we are inside."

"What? What happened to them?" Abel asked.

"The Count and Countess, the parents of the current Nithsgorgs, were killed by Terrans disguised as servants, many years ago."

"We are sorry for their loss," said Marcus Henry smoothly. Abel bowed his head. What was there to say, really? These Methuselah weren't looking for their sympathies, they were looking for a killer. Tres reached over and took the case files.

"These should provide us with the information necessary to find the attacker," he said.

Abel nodded. Normally he hated reading reports; this time, though, this time they would lead him straight to the person who had decided to murder vampires.

* * *

><p>Mere days ago, Rory Manor had fought for his life against a vampire. Now, he was in front of one, offering to shake hands.<p>

He decided that the world didn't make much sense.

The handshake had been a knee-jerk reaction, to try and cover up for his second of confusion. He'd thought she was another pilot or something, and only when he got closer did he realize his mistake: she wasn't human. With the faintly glowing eyes and skin and that distinctive otherworldly beauty, there was no way that she could be anything but Methuselah.

Plus, when he looked closer, her canines behind her slightly curled lip were pointed. Rory was reminded of the fairy tales his mother used to tell him at bedtime when he was a child: the creatures heroes met that seemed fair and acted foul. All the better to eat you with, my dear.

She was still staring at his hand with a rather incredulous expression, so he dropped it and put his hands in his pockets. "So, yes, I…was just wondering if you needed some…help with anything. I'm a pilot, and you're out here by the ships…but you're probably fine, and everything, so I'll leave you alone." Now was the time to stop babbling. He closed his mouth and smiled again, though not quite as brightly as before.

Her expression still was a mixture of confusion and disdain. Rory started to get a little angry: she could at least acknowledge that he was there. But he'd already said that he would leave her alone, so why was he still standing there? He turned around, and as he did, the Methuselah girl said, "You are a pilot for the Vatican."

He turned back. "Actually, no. I flew one of the priests here, but I only fly for myself."

Her expression was now more disapproving than confused. "Which priest?"

When Rory answered, her eyes grew angrier still. He couldn't remember the last time a gaze had scorched him so much; even the vampire that he fought in Venice hadn't given him such a look. "Him," she snarled. "You shouldn't have brought him. Do you have any idea of what state my brother is in because of him?"

"No, I don't—your brother, you said?" So he was talking with a Countess. Definitely not a pilot. When his father had told him to always help a woman in need, he surely hadn't foreseen scenarios like this!

Nothing like this girl, who nodded tightly, teeth clenched. "Tell that priest that Ramnoff will not be speaking to him again. Tell him that if he ever sets foot here again, I'll have him run out like a dog. Do you understand?"

"No," said Rory. "What did Abel do to be run off like a dog?"

She took a step forward. Though his legs didn't want to move, he forced himself to take a step forward as well. They were now within six feet of each other. She said, "Why does it matter to you what he did? He disturbed my brother, and Menicla Nithsgorg will not stand by for that kind of thing any longer!"

Menicla Nithsgorg had a very healthy snarl on her, too, one that said that she ate Terrans like him for breakfast, but she was attacking Abel. "Countess, he's trying to help. He doesn't mean any harm."

"Ramnoff doesn't want to remember! Tell him that! He doesn't want to remember!" The Methuselah's voice was almost a shout now.

"Of course not. No one wants to remember being attacked." Rory shrugged, making it as unaffected and casual as possible. "But it will help, Countess, I know it will. I trust Abel, and he's the best priest I ever met. Well, when it comes to fighting, anyway."

But Menicla didn't calm down, in spite of Rory's words and his quiet voice. "You do not know anything," she said bitterly, "Nothing! You know nothing!" For a second, her eyes burned with a terrible knowledge, something that Rory almost flinched–or at least, he told himself that he'd only almost flinched–to see. If she had run up and bitten him on the spot or broken his neck or started tearing her own hair out, he wouldn't have been surprised. Instead, she turned and moved back to her house, at a pace too slow to be called fleeing but definitely too fast to be called walking.

The other pilot approached him. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked. "I've never seen one of them get so angry like that!"

Rory mustered up the most reassuring smile he could manage at the moment. "I'm fine, really. And she does have reason to be worried, doesn't she? I need to get the ship ready for departure. It was a pleasure meeting you."

Only when he was back on his ship, smearing mustard on bread for Abel's sandwich, did his hands stop trembling. "Rory Manor," he muttered under his breath, "this is stupid. You are _not_ afraid of vampires. You faced down a vampire in Venice that was ten times as scary as her Highness. You are _not _afraid of vampires."

He thought back to the look in Menicla's eyes, and had to wonder what she had seen that could make a Methuselah so afraid.

* * *

><p>AN: This chapter is dedicated to sorcerousfang, for their review, and also to the person/people who have checked this story every Friday for the past few weeks. I'm sorry to keep you waiting! I just wanted you to know that you've motivated me to write more on this story in a couple of months than I might in half a year normally. So, now we see some information and there's a new attack! And what exactly is bothering Meni? And will Abel like his sandwich? Review if you would like to; it always makes my day.

Disclaimer: I do not own Trinity Blood; only my characters answer to me (sometimes).


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